heart strings sing staccato
as anxiety rides up into me
heat waves and fever shocks.
Ultimately the future cannot be so
pressing as to be riddled with such
My own silence is
settled yet surprising. . . . . . . Have I nothing to say?
My mind's mouth is
sutured by waves of
external emotions as it becomes merely
Martyrd by my own mystery
Left to decompose and desintegrate
Rot retreats to
Reorient into Reality.
Dreams transmutate to dispel the
horrifying bite of brass tacks.
You are, for me,
elevation and humility.